I had wanted to write a timely article about Hostess snack cakes, with Hostess filing for bankruptcy being in the news.

But between trying to get the kids fed and to sleep and then trying to finish the book I’m writing, it seemed sort of superfluous. But it reminded me of something I had written a long while ago, about snack cakes and grade school. It was something I had posted on my old site for a long while. That site is offline and, I realized, that this story no longer had a place in the world. So, in honor of the memories of Twinkies and Choco-Diles and Fruit Pies past, I offer it up here, only slightly edited. (This was done in 1999, in a world and an internet without Facebook and Google-as-a-fact-of-everyone’s-life, so I have taken out last names.)

Also, speaking of Facebook, the story ended up finishing itself in a very magical way, decades after it happened and was told and retold. Below are the opening paragraphs, but clicking on the “read it all” link will bring you to a recreation of how I formatted it back in 1999, on www.itsthecatsass.com (ITCA to those in the club).

Here’s how it went down.
The year was 1981. Gil Gerard ruled the airwaves as BUCK ROGERS. The Atari 2600 was in its heyday, having yet to disappoint the gaming public with its anemic version of PAC MAN. Dudley Moore was winning America’s heart with his whimsical onscreen alcoholism and wacky drunk-driving antics in ARTHUR. MAD MAGAZINE was having a grand ol’ time parodying Ronald Reagan and Ed Meese, leaving me, in third grade, trying to memorize Al Jaffee’s “Snappy Comebacks to Stupid Questions” baffled. Who the hell was Ed Meese? And my family was moving from a small town called Oxford to a small town called Southbury.

My dad had, in a surprising twist of career-fate, been offered a job on a 300-cow dairy farm. (Long story, please don’t ask. My dad led a weird charmed life.) Part of the perk of this position was that it came with not only free lodging for the family, but free lodging in a beautiful, 250 year old Colonial house, with a crazy amount of rooms. Being used to living in apartments and small places, this sprawling manse with its hardwood floors and honest craftsmanship offered my folks a chance to save money, while living in spacious and bucolic accommodations. A deal too good to be true. And, like any such deal, it turned out to be just that.

But at least AT FIRST, it was a joy for my folks.

For me, however, it was not so much wine and roses. Moving, when you are going into third grade, is playing what may be called a kind of emotional Russian Roulette. It’s altogether possible that the barrel will spin onto an empty chamber, and the trigger-pull of uprooting your established friendships and replacing your familiar school hallways with new ones will, in the hollow click of disaster averted, give you a second lease on life, and a new, better perspective.

Or, as in my case, the thing can end up blowing your mind, and leaving chunks of your soul on the walls and carpet.

READ IT ALL….